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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30040209">Gods and Fighting Men</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/samhainsolstice/pseuds/samhainsolstice'>samhainsolstice</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Vikings (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:22:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,251</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30040209</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/samhainsolstice/pseuds/samhainsolstice</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that Vikings has finished, I wanted to start all over again at the begining and write a small (hopefully) not too long tribute to my favourite TV show and characters, covering series 1-3 ( which were the best) with a little bit of irish legends thrown in for good measure.<br/>This story centres around Rollo and an original Female character</p>
<p>I plan to update everyweek... fingers crossed</p>
<p>Any comments welcomed</p>
<p>Hope you enjoy</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Athelstan/King Ecbert (Vikings), Athelstan/Ragnar Lothbrok, Floki/Rollo (Vikings), King Aelle/Ragnar Lothbrok/Sons of Ragnar Lothbrok, King Ecbert (Vikings)/Reader, Lagertha/Ragnar Lothbrok, Original Characters - Relationship, Ragnar Lothbrok &amp; Rollo (Vikings), Rollo/Siggy (Vikings)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <strong>Preface</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>
      <span class="u">Provence of Leinster, East Coast of Ireland 795</span>
    </strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Two years after the Viking raids on Lindisfarne, raiders from the North have crossed the sea.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She woke with a jolt, a scream smothered quickly with a rough hand as the other a block of ice fixed on her shoulder. </p>
<p>“Aiden,” she hissed as her brothers face came into view in the gloomy dark of the farm hut.  Hushing her quickly as he pulled her from the warmth of her bed throwing a cloak at her head, he signalled her to follow him outside.   Gasping in the bitter cold she scowled once more at her brother.</p>
<p>“Why have you pulled me from my bed in the middle of the night; what are you up to now brother.”</p>
<p>“Hush or you will have the entire village upon us.  You would sleep your life away if it wasn’t for me sister.  Besides it is morning, the morning of our birth.  And I mean to mark this one with a small adventure.”</p>
<p> Hurrying her along with a playful shove in the back, they stumbled quietly to the small building at the rear of their small hut.  Shivering in her cloak, she muttered and cursed under her breath at her brother’s schemes.  Aiden was always up to something.  A plot to be hatched; any adventure to escape the dullness that had become their existence.  Life had not always been thus, but it was better not to think on the past now, it served no purpose.   And if they were discovered from their beds idling about the countryside when a farm of chores awaited them, there would be hell to pay. </p>
<p>The sun had not yet risen, a deep fall of snow had blanketed the countryside for days silencing their movements as Aiden pulled a reluctant mule from the warmth of his brier.  Settling into the rough sacking that served as a saddle, she gently urged the mule on with a press of her knees, as Aiden taking the bridle in handle urged the animal quietly on.</p>
<p>From her perch, she assessed her brother.  Always the braver more adventurous of the two; until recent years they were two peas in a pod.  Despite the difference in gender, all apart from their parents struggled to tell them apart.   A blessing from the Goddess <em>Aine </em>the old druids said; born on the dawn of mid-winter solstice named for the festival of fire.  The old ways of Ireland long buried with the coming of Christianity.  The druids and their knowledge of the <em>Tuatha De Danann</em> lost to the ravages of Kings eager for gold.  With the passing of adolescence Aiden lost the soft charm of his boyish looks replaced with the sharpening of his features.</p>
<p> Like her; Aiden was blessed with high sharp cheekbones and striking almost feline bright green eyes, framed by lustrous thick jet black hair that brushed his wide strong shoulders.  There the similarity now ended, whereas Aiden grew like an oak it seemed overnight upwards and outwards, she remained small of stature, the crown of her raven head touching the centre of her brother’s chest.   Hard to believe now as they trudged through the snow and muck upon a mule in ragged clothing, they had once been the family of the King of Leinster.</p>
<p>Aiden’s morning adventure was taking longer than she expected.  Back at the homestead, their guardians would be stirring, no doubt wondering where their lazy charges had escaped to now.  Anxious of the punishment that waited, she begged her brother again to turn back.</p>
<p>“Sister, do not worry so.  We are nearly there, now slip down we cannot expect the poor animal to bear your weight uphill.”  Quickly doing as he asked, frowning as he tethered the bridle to a gate post and opened his tattered cloak to hand her, her bow and quiver of arrows.   Fastened to his side, she noticed his sword.  At the top of the hill she could make out the small snow covered mound.   Lost in her thoughts she had not paid attention to the path Aiden took<em>. </em></p>
<p>
  <em> Sí in Bhrú</em>
</p>
<p>Her blood turned to ice in her veins as the hair on the back of her neck stood.  The ancient passage tomb atop the valley stood as monument to the ancient Gods <em>Tuatha de Danna</em>.   To be caught here on this morning, worshiping pagan God’s meant only death.</p>
<p>“Aiden…”</p>
<p>“Come sister, all will be well.   Not one soul stirs at this hour.  <em>Aegngus Og</em> watches over us.”</p>
<p>“Brother please you must not speak of such things.  Do not speak the ancient ones names aloud..not here..not in this place.”</p>
<p>“I fear no man and no god.  The Christian god is a false god, brought upon us to corrupt our Kings.”</p>
<p>“Do not say it Aiden, please these are myths spread by old men with only hatred in their hearts.   Have you forgotten our Father swore us to live quietly and survive?  Please Aiden, let us turn back now.  It is not too late.”</p>
<p>“I will not live my life in the shadows any longer sister, I will not fear who we are so we might live a poor life, bowing and scraping to a King who sent our father to his death and condemned us to a life in hiding.”</p>
<p>“Our father died in battle as a warrior should.  I am not ashamed of him.”</p>
<p>Taking her arm in a bruising grip, Aiden shuck her until her teeth rattled. </p>
<p>“You do well to remember, our Father was slaughtered to protect his brother the King against an ocean of North men. Our own Uncle so afraid of the strength of his own brothers family; he would send his only brother to face the invaders and order the murder of his family in the same breath.  Tell me now sister, Where is your God in all this?”</p>
<p> Stumbling behind him, heart thundering in her chest, she was sure if any warriors were waiting hidden in the bushes they would hear her. How could she stop him…he was twice her size and far stronger than her.  She could not hope to over-power him.  He would hurt her if he needed to.  Although Christianity had come to the island 200 years since, villagers still gathered to mark the festivals at the mound although quietly.  With the coming of the fierce wild raiders from the sea, upon long wooden boats adorned with dragons, it had awoken the history of the country of the once great warrior <em>Cuchulainn.  </em>Now this mid-winter morning Aiden meant for them to join the gathering on the mound to welcome the sun and let their survival be known to all.  Every sacrifice, every demeaning chore and task they had endured for the last five years would all be for nothing.</p>
<p>This reason alone was enough to want to turn and run, run from her brother, run from whomever may be waiting at the summit.  But she knew the real meaning of this place, its true purpose.  The secret had been revealed to her many years ago, in her uncles court.  A wanderer sat around the fire late one night, his glance falling on the young siblings slumbering in their fathers lap as his words filled the hall of the ancient Kings Of Ireland marrying brother to sister  and so on and so on to keep the blood lines of the Royal Houses pure.  Aiden long ago lulled to sleep by his father’s warmth and stolen goblet of wine snored softly by her side.   Her father’s hand heavy on her back, as she feigned sleep, hairs on the back of her neck as she felt her Uncles cold hard stare.</p>
<p>A yank of her arm from Aiden pulled her back to her feet as she stumbled again in the knee deep snow.  As he strode on uphill with ease, she cursed him and she prayed. She prayed the sun would not break through the thick snow heavy clouded sky.  She prayed the river had not frozen over. She prayed that the good people of the farms and land stayed in their beds this morning.  And she prayed that the King; her uncle had tired of his quest to find and murder them both.   </p>
<p>The river had frozen.  Not thick enough to cross with confidence, progress was slow and cold.  Patience had never been her brother’s strongest virtue but even he was not foolish enough to risk breaking the ice and being swept away by the powerful river.  Frozen to the bone they crossed to the opposite bank and began the heavy climb uphill.  Every step sapping their strength as they sank knee deep with each step as snow fell heavier around them their footsteps already covered.  There would be no sunrise this morning, no declaration, no revelation.  For that alone she was relieved. </p>
<p>Her relief was tempered by her brother’s disappointment.  He was eaten away with anger over what their life had become.  They had been brought so low by a once loving Uncle; who had taken his Kingdom not in blood but through corruption.  A man who should not be King, not matter how much he desired it.  He did not have the love or loyalty of the Earls nor the people he ruled over.  Instead they looked to his brother.  Their father the great warrior;  Descended from the <em>Fianna</em> it was said, who whispered bed time stories to them of the last of the great men of Ireland.  Their father <em>Oisin</em> named for the son of <em>Fionn</em>.  Towering over his older brother in height, he was a natural leader of men, a warrior who the men all looked to in battle holding the lands for his brother without question.   His presence in his brother lands was enough to give pause to any who thought to attack.</p>
<p>Yet his loyalty and service could not quell the jealousy that raged in his brothers veins. </p>
<p>The King saw only threat.  It was a matter of time before he usurped and his brother placed in his stead.</p>
<p> In her heart she could not be angry with him, not on this day. When they had been happy before even their mother’s death, their father would bring them to this place in the early hours of the morning on the day of their birth to give thanks to the old gods and the Christian God for the passing of another year and his strong children.</p>
<p>Aiden should be a great warrior like his father, fighting the invaders alongside his father.  And what of her, what would she be now.  On this day she marked her beginning of adulthood leaving the childish dreams of adolescence behind.  She would be long married by now that was certain.  Perhaps her fate would have been that of her mother, to have married for love only to die before the children she bore had passed five winters.</p>
<p> The thought of a fate that could have been hers she shuddered and shivered in turn.  Standing in one place for too long had allowed the cold to settle in her bones as a deep covering of snow now rested on her shoulders.  Stamping her feet to get the feeling back, she turned to Aiden once more.</p>
<p>Placing a cold hand on his cheek, he startled out of his prayer.</p>
<p>“Brother; we have stayed too long.  If we do not return soon we will be missed and I do not want to go with a hot meal this day.”</p>
<p>Pulling the old woollen cloak tighter about her shoulders, she turned once more downhill towards the river and its precarious crossing.  In truth they had not come far from the river bank but the deep snow and biting wind had made the short journey arduous. Aiden’s hand on her shoulder spun her around.  A flash of metal as a dagger she did not know he still had sliced through the air and the burning flame of pain as the dagger sliced through the palm of her hand.  Dumbfounded she could only watch as he repeated the action across his own and pressed their bleeding hands down to press on the massive granite stone in front of them.</p>
<p>“I mark this place in blood, in the blood of our father, the blood of our mother. No longer shall we live in hiding.  All will know the children of Oisin live and we will have our revenge.”</p>
<p>Taking his bloodied palm Aiden wiped his fingers across her face, his eyes like two flints sparking in challenge.  Reaching up she repeated his gesture, swiping her blood across his face.  He had forced her to swear a blood oath they only way he knew how.</p>
<p>Nodding Aiden passed her the dagger and fastened his sword once more, as he turned his heavy steps to begin the descent back to the farm.</p>
<p>In silence they trudged back down the small incline, each other deep in their thoughts.  From the opposite side of the frozen river the tethered mule lifted his head to bray a greeting when she heard the sudden thunderous beat of horses charging behind her.</p>
<p> At first she hesitated, thinking it was some of the village folk coming to catch them up.  Quickly she realised the horses where no farm yard beast.   The riders were no peasant farmers. Aiden was swift of foot as he grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her after him.  They were exposed out in open country.   They could not out run horses. They would be ridden down and slaughtered within moments.</p>
<p>As Brother and Sister scrambled to the river bank, the caution of the previous crossing was quickly forgotten.  Crossing the river now ahead of the horsemen was the only chance of escape.  Yanking her arm so hard that she fell face first onto the ice, she lay dazed for seconds as she came to focus on the figure of her brother scrambling in the snow for his sword.</p>
<p>“I will not leave you, you cannot face them alone.”</p>
<p>“It will take more than your dagger or skill with a bow to save us sister.  Both of us should not die this day.”</p>
<p>“I will not flee and leave you to die Brother.  If our Uncle has found us, there is no safe place left for us.”</p>
<p>Cursing her frozen fingers, she scrambled up the river bank finding her bow and readied an arrow.  Squatting low in the ditch, she tried to quite the furious thumping of her heart.</p>
<p>God was angry with her, she reflected afterwards.  She should not have allowed Aiden to show such open contempt to the church.  She was the stronger of the two in belief, it was her responsibility to keep her brother on the true path. </p>
<p>In the end it was nothing more than a skirmish, over brutally and bloody.</p>
<p>They were caught quickly; and dealt with a show of force. </p>
<p>Her one arrow found its mark and brought down one warrior from his horse lodging deep in his skull.  She did not have time to loose another before being set upon.  Her dagger found the soft sides of another as she fought pinned beneath the heavy body in time to see her brother bravely meeting blow for blow of a warrior twice his strength and age.</p>
<p>Aiden sank to knees as a bone splitting blow delivered but still he met the sword with his own.  Trapped beneath the dead weight she could only watch as the warrior raised the hilt of his sword to bring it crashing down to his temple. His body falling to the ground like a sack.</p>
<p>The sun did decide to break through the heavy winter sky that morning.   She watched helpless, half trapped beneath the body as the warrior who had turned away to leave hesitated and moved towards where her brother lay. </p>
<p>Be still, be still… she thought.  Please please; pretend to be dead.</p>
<p>For a moment she thought she could see the faint rise of his chest as the warrior approached again.</p>
<p>Hold your breath, be still she prayed…</p>
<p> The warrior bent and took hold of his ankle, dragging his still body towards the river bank, taking the sword as he thrust it deeply into the ice and waiting for the surface to crack. With a fist full of Aiden’s hair the warrior glanced at the river in satisfaction before taking tilting back his head to expose his neck.</p>
<p>She did scream she was sure she did or was it the blood screaming in her ears as she helplessly watched the blood gush forward from the gaping slash in her brother’s throat.  Ruthlessly the warrior kicked his empty body onto the fragile broken ice already turning away not waiting to for the river to claim him. </p>
<p>Her entire family had been erased, her existence meant nothing.  She alone bore no threat to any Earl, any King.  Her life could be extinguished in a moment.  There was no one left that would grieve or mark her death.</p>
<p>The crawl to her brothers side took so long, she never realised the warriors had not left.  Atop their horses, they watched silently from the hill as she pulled at the ground beneath her, rising each time as she sobbed and stumbled to the river bank and fell again arms stretched out to reach his fingertips, lest she disturb the fragile ice and his body be taken by the waters.</p>
<p>“Your Gods be dammed to hell Aiden…” stretched the snow to his body as she sobbed and cursed alongside his drained body she did not hear the approaching footsteps. A fisted yank of her hair brought her painfully to her feet.  She did not know the face of the man who held her twisting the length of her hair around his fist so that she must arch her back to keep her scalp from being torn off. </p>
<p>“ <em>Aednat</em> ?</p>
<p>Another twist.</p>
<p>“ Aednat.”</p>
<p>She suppressed a cry of pain behind clenched lips and gave the smallest of nods.</p>
<p>A satisfied grunt as the grip was tightened until she could not help but cry out.</p>
<p>“Your Uncle sends a message.”</p>
<p>Eyes on fire she glared at the warrior as best she could spitting in his face.  Throwing her away with a cry of disgust he crashed the hilt of his sword across her temple.  The ground ran up to meet her as the ringing in her ears drowned out his curses.  Her vision blurred and swam even as she felt her body being lifted then tossed across a warm body and jolted into motion. </p>
<p>Her last thing she remembered as the darkness closed in was of the ice breaking on the river and the body of her beautiful brother slipping beneath the darkness of the water to his eternal grave.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Kingdom Of Wessex</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rollo POV;</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>Kingdom of Wessex:</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p> ↔</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>Rollo</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p>
<p>You were tired of this place.  This country</p>
<p>Tired of the King who watched your every move; eyes you could feel upon your flesh.</p>
<p>His pet priest at your bedside every morning without fail.</p>
<p>The people of this land overflowing with riches your people had never known.   Tired of These people who did not fight back.   These people who ran and hid in their churches cowering behind the skirts of a priest.  Who prayed to a dead God.</p>
<p>A dead God !!!!</p>
<p>What use was a dead God. </p>
<p>No wonder taking so much had been so easy.</p>
<p>Too easy…!</p>
<p>Too easy…</p>
<p>Yes.</p>
<p> Just as everything had been too easy for your brother. </p>
<p>To sail west across the ocean had been easy.</p>
<p> Finding this rich land to raid. </p>
<p>Overthrow a beaten down Earl…</p>
<p>Taking the woman you loved from you….</p>
<p>Your little brother so cocky and sure of himself!</p>
<p>Your little brother descended of <em>Odin</em>.</p>
<p>Your little brother who cast the greatest woman you’d ever known aside.  Because he sought more son’s when he already was the father of a son who already stood tall and strong at your shoulder. </p>
<p>As so much had already been forgiven, you could not no matter how much you desired to, pursue your little brother’s ex-wife.  You must over and over again prove your loyalty to Ragnar.  There must never again be any question of loyalty.</p>
<p>This was your penance you supposed.  The priest has spoken of seeking forgiveness and serving a penance.  Enduring much suffering to erase sin….even a sin as great as yours.</p>
<p>Christians…you would never understand them.</p>
<p>You understood your brother.</p>
<p>Leaving you to rot in this stinking country<em>.</em></p>
<p>Trampled half to death on the battle field…for what?  To prove fealty to block headed King Horik.  You should have stuck an axe in his head.</p>
<p>And now you were the one to suffer, as ever to Ragnar went the spoils.  And you, you yet again punished.</p>
<p>In that room you had lay watching as the seasons changed to winter realising your brother even if he wanted to now could not come for you.  Pain coursed through your body day and night even you the mighty warrior had cried out in pain more than once.  Shame washed through your veins even now as you had greedily drank from the healers cups to end the pain.  You would have given all your riches from raiding if the pain would stop.</p>
<p>As autumn rolled into winter your body healed.  Your broken bones began to mend.  Your stomach no longer rolled after a bite of food.  The Saxon wine no longer made your head spin.</p>
<p>Envy and bitterness festered.</p>
<p>And that Priest…that stupid bloody Priest. </p>
<p>Everywhere you went he was there?  At first there was no escape as he appeared each morning at your bedside.  A cold cup of water pressed to your mouth.  A cup of something warm and sickly that made your vision blur and words run together, that took away the pain long enough to help you sit up in bed.</p>
<p>From here you watched disinterested at first the comings and goings to King Ecbert’s little Kingdom.  Once the priest had taken his leave, you watched the Saxon Soldiers perform their drills over and over.  Each day, always the same drill.</p>
<p>No wonder these Saxons were so easy to kill.</p>
<p>Wincing as your leg reminded you this was not always true.  King Ecbert’s attack had been well planned.</p>
<p>If it wasn’t enough to endure the Priest as he visited your bedside every day.  Now as you regained your strength he would appear at dusk as the castle quietened when your eyes were heavy with sleep to pour these strange Saxon words in your ears.</p>
<p>It was a secret between the two of you.  Not even King Ecbert was to know. With each passing day you understood more.  Although at the beginning it was only a simple word here and there.</p>
<p>
  <em>Food</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Wine,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Woman</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Axe</em>
</p>
<p>King Aelle, another King, another fat important man who gorged himself night after night.  This was a King who easily showed his hand.   Comfortable in his host’s hospitality the fat King of the land boarding King Ecbert spoke often of his lust for vengeance upon your brother.  Now the Kings were allies their armies joined.  Northmen would not land on these shores again unchallenged.  The next time Ragnar Lothbrok set foot upon Saxon soil, would be the last time. </p>
<p>The priests face gave away nothing as your eyes met his piecing the words together.  You did not understand them all.  You understood enough. </p>
<p>When your brother crossed the sea again… <em>if </em>your brother crossed the sea again….</p>
<p>You would be ready…you must be ready.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Discovery in the Woods</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rollo POV</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 2</p>
<p>
  <em>A Discovery in the Woods</em>
</p>
<p>↔</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Shit and Piss and Blood.</p>
<p>All the rotten stinking things of a life shuddering violently towards the end.</p>
<p>The stench of violence, power, corruption…fear.    </p>
<p>The Battle to come.</p>
<p> A smell you knew well, savoured, revelled and drew deep into the fibre of your own body as you called upon the all father to grant the strength to follow the mighty swing of the axe wielded in your grasp.</p>
<p> Congealed vomit and the deep smell of fear; wafting from the bundle of skin and bones at your feet.  You had stood upon battlefields the stench of rotting corpses was not as bad.  Smells like nothing else wrapped up together.  Enough to make your stomach heave, wrinkling your nose again as the stench wafted up somewhere near your jaw.</p>
<p>The day had started as any other in this cursed country.  Now that the fat King revealed his hand you carefully began to piece together a plan of escape swhen the time came.  You were a hostage of that there was no doubt, until your brother crossed the sea your life was not in danger.  The moment Ragnar set foot on Wessex soil your life once more lied in his hands. </p>
<p>With the smell of spring in the air, you did what any good Viking warrior would do.  Every day at the same time you saddled a horse and set out to scout the countryside.  The news of attacks on farmsteads boarding both kingdoms proved a welcome distraction.  Under the guise of ridding the King of this petty inconvenience you used the time to keep watch for your brother’s boats on the horizon.  If you proved lucky enough to happen upon some stupid Saxon bandits you would welcome the chance to bury your axe in their soft heads. Now fully healed; your body burnt with a pent up energy that no amount of wenches could extinguish. You itched to feel the exhilaration of battle once more. </p>
<p>It seemed today, you’re the gods heard you. </p>
<p>Riding out further than you had before, the horse beneath you reared at the smell of burning carried on the wind.  Screams of terror and cries of pain followed quickly.  The battle would be brief and bloody, you grinned in anticipation nudging the horse onward a quick swat on the rear enough to move the stubborn animal.  Your fingers already curled around the handle of the axe.</p>
<p>Night closed in quickly as you made camp in the charred ruins of the farmsteads.  The horse petrified of the small battle had bolted as soon as you leapt from its back throwing yourself and your axe at the first body you saw as you crashed through the trees.  Poor bandits attacking even poorer farmers.  What did it matter a battle was a battle.  They were no match for you.  A warrior, a berserker swinging your mighty axe felling all that would stand in your way.  Blood thrummed in your ears, Thor swimming in your veins, your heart singing.  As you sat drenched in blood sweat and mud, you could see now that the people of this land thought you were nothing but a savage.  The farmstead was no more as was its inhabitants along with the attackers.</p>
<p> Except for one.</p>
<p> The poor creature more dead than alive could not survive the night.  A Child? </p>
<p>Or a Daughter?</p>
<p>No a slave.</p>
<p>A brand upon her skin, burnt deep into the ridge of her shoulder evident along with the clear welted markings of the lash.  Perhaps the few sips of water you managed to force past her split cracked lips would hold death off for a few hours at least.  Her mouth split and cracked, congealed vomit and blood crusted on her tongue.  The odour was enough to make you turn your head and empty your own stomach.  Rollo, the great warrior so reduced to vomiting over a rotting body.  Ragnar would be amused.</p>
<p>The rotting clothes came away easily in your hands, coated in as much grease and filth as the rest of her as you inspected what little was left of her body.  As bony and broken as a hungry dog you could clearly count her ribs, the bumps of her spine and shoulders.  The face sunken and stark recently received a sturdy boot to the head from the weeping wound under the dark matted mass of hair. The fire reduced the scraps of clothes to ashes.  If she survived the night you would take her back to the villa.</p>
<p>A gift for the Priest?</p>
<p>The creature could be the bloody priest’s new pet.  Maybe then he would cease plaguing you with his endless words and books.  With eagerness and a lightness of mood that you had not felt in many moons, you settled down for the night at peace.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. A Gift for the Priest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>"How is she today, our little savage.”</p>
<p>Athelstan swallowed.  King Ecbert was tired of waiting.  He was tired of each passing day that brought no new answers or revelations.  In truth there were no revelations.  The little savage as King Ecbert laughingly called her was nothing remarkable.  He assisted in her care as Rollo has asked him nay commanded him, tossing the foul smelling body at his feet as he called out for the first time with mirth in his voice for strong ale and a strong woman.</p>
<p>None the less the King in his rooms made him nervous.  The last time his sire had come to his rooms something far dreadful than he could have imagined happened.  The King was an intelligent man of that he knew, a cunning man of that Athelstan was certain.  In his quiet arrogance he thought himself more so.  After all he had tutored under the finest minds in England, Frankia and Europe, read latin, transcribed ancient scripts that The King could not, toiling for hours by flickering candlelight heart singing in joy to once again know the pleasure of parchment and ink. </p>
<p>Allowing his ego to be flattered was his first sin, his first mistake.  Through the sin of pride he was complicit in the slaughter of his Viking Family.</p>
<p>Moving slowly lest his shaking hand be noticed he lay the quill aside and blew gently on the ink drying on the parchment. </p>
<p>“She grows stronger with each day, My Lord.”</p>
<p>“Good, good.  And what do we know of her.”</p>
<p>Athelstan blinked.  Everyday the same question?  King Ecbert was perverse in his need to discover who the girl was.</p>
<p>“Nothing Sire, nothing new...except perhaps…” Athelstan stopped suddenly aware he was being watched like a cat watches a mouse.</p>
<p>“ Except?...enlighten me.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps I think…she may be…it was only the smallest word, I have never been to the country and I am not certain of the language...she cursed a lot as the healers tended her…words I have never heard but I am certain they are profane…no lady would speak thus…she must be a commoner…the healers required greater strength to set her arm it was quite badly broken.  She was…has surprising strength in spite of her outward frailty.  Indeed Rollo was required to hold her still.”</p>
<p>King Ecbert’s brow quirked in surprise. </p>
<p>Athelstan cursed himself for gifting the King that piece of knowledge which he would store away to use when needed to his greatest advantage.   Mindful of his words he recalled the day he was called to the healer rooms.   What he could do he did not know but if a broken soul needed his help it was his duty to attend.  Her wounds, extensive they had been, none proved deep enough to leave any lasting effects. She cradled her broken arm carefully hiding the injury from the healers as long as she could.  The day came to finally set the arm; Athelstan sat opposite her as the healer approached with a wary eye and trembling hands.  Her face still bore the brunt of the last attempt to set the arm.  Plying the girl with wine served no purpose as her stomach was still too weak to hold anything stronger than water and thin porridge.  Pulled to the sick room by some sense of responsibility or morbid interest in the girl as he had been the one to deliver her to the Villa, Rollo appeared to watch the proceedings his own body flinching in memory of his own not too distant suffering in these rooms.</p>
<p>Perhaps it was his compassion for another’s suffering or some strange Viking fascination for one broken in battle that he did not understand but Athelstan was grateful as the great warrior gently slipped to sit behind the ram rod straight spine of the girl one arm clamped around her tiny waist; the other around her shoulders as her turned her face in his neck and whispered into her ear.  In turn she tensed, sobbing into the warmth of his neck before giving a small nod. </p>
<p>Athelstan never heard a noise like it.  Not when his monastery had been plundered.  Not when Yarl Borg had attacked.  Not on the bloodied battlefield of Ragnar’s defeat.  Her body arched like a bow as the healer gripped the broken arm and pulled the bone straight.  Rollo to his credit had not flinched even as she turned in his grip and sunk her teeth into his shoulder.  A curt nod to the healer to continue as he held her in his iron grip.   The arm splinted to satisfaction the healer beat a hasty retreat.  Sweating and breathing heavily the girl lay her head heavily on Rollo’s chest as he spoke quietly to her.  Athelstan felt like he was intruding all of a sudden, surprised to see the unexpected gentle side of a man he had only known a ruthless warrior stroking his large hand across her forehead pushing the tangled mass of matted hair from her brow; his eyes soft.  The spell was quickly broken however as the girls pliant limp body suddenly heaved to violently empty the meagre contents of her stomach in the Vikings lap.</p>
<p>Athelstan bit his lip so hard trying not to laugh as Rollo sent him a head splitting glare.</p>
<p>“She said a word, <em>Dia</em> I think, not latin but I think it is their word for God.  I think perhaps she may be Irish.”</p>
<p>“Irish, God save us indeed.  King Alle is to know nothing of this.   If he were to discover she is Irish, slave or otherwise she would have been better left for dead.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Slave</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong> <em>Slave</em> </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Girl!…thing!…you!….Slave…<em>Slave</em></p>
<p><em>Slave!! </em> A shout, a scream; a slap</p>
<p>Hard and open across her cold chapped cheek, stinging, brutal…motivating.  Or a fist to the stomach; winding and agonising.   Sliding and gasping to the ground, sucking in breath rolling in the mud to dodge the well-aimed heavy booted kick.  Or if the day was as awful as all the others rolled into one, it was the skin tearing sting of the lash.  She was more fortunate than the others, her welts and beatings were few. </p>
<p>She could not remember the before…all of before. </p>
<p>The first place she learned to move fast, hide when the villagers filled their bellies with ale and wine and as night fell; to hide.   The next she rose before the sun, was invisible during her chores and did not flinch as the lash whipped out.  Each rain soaked village more miserable and destitute than the last. </p>
<p>In this place, this little rain soaked settlement wattle and daub huts of elderly impoverished peasants, slaves and animals so starved as they toiled in the mud and dirt and dung on her hands and knees day after day until her clothes were sodden and slapped and sucked at her skin leaving a dampness that would settle in her bones to make her feel 100 years old and wish that each night as she crawled into a space beside the animals and other slaves that it would be her last.</p>
<p>Not dead...not alive…somewhere between. </p>
<p>At night she dreamed of the before, of bobbing on the open sea and of towering fierce walls of water, winds howling but could not entirely piece it all together.  In the quiet peaceful moments of early morning before she was pulled from rest she would lay still and try to grasp the fading mists of her memories.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Perhaps this was some strange place of everlasting punishment until death would finally come to claim her.  She hoped one of the many raiding parties that tore through the settlement would end her misery. This place was an easy target, it was always over quickly.  Women, children and farm animal alike screams piercing the hazy quiet of the morning, huts and outbuildings set ablaze to flush out the villagers, impoverished peasants with weapons no more than farm tools and torches, a horse as skinny and starving as the raiders; to make away with the fattest animal, meagre morsels of food and the best slaves.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The village burned to ashes in less than a day, before the sun had set on the day, the buildings reduced to smouldering ashes.  All animals and people gone, all expect her.  In her scurry to a hiding place, she had slipped in the mud, caught underfoot and trampled by the terrified fleeing animals.  She had slept for an eternity, between fever and pain her mind swam until sleep was all that she wanted and never to wake again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>In that time she woke once and only briefly, roused by the sudden heat of a fire and the blessed ice cold quench of water filling her mouth.  She gagged and retched as her starved stomach rolled and rushed up to reject what it had not known for so long and in her ear she heard the whispers of the ones she dreamt of, calling her, calling her, calling her home.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Leinster : The Leinster province comprises the ancient Kingdoms of Meath, Leinster and Osraige</p>
<p>Aiden: born of fire</p>
<p>Goddess Aine :(pronounced: 'awn-ya'), is the Celtic Goddess of Summer and Wealth. She represents the sun, love and fertility, with the power to ensure plentiful crops and harvests</p>
<p>Tuatha De Danann :are a supernatural race in Irish mythology. They are thought to represent the main deities of pre-Christian Gaelic Ireland. The people of the gods of Dana or the Men of the Dea.  </p>
<p>Sí in Bhrú : Newgrange In the old stories, the name given the monument was Sí in Bhrú, the Fairy Mound of the Brú.</p>
<p>Aegngus Og:Aengus Óg is the love God of Irish mythology. He was the son of the Daghda and Boann who was the Goddess of the River Boyne.</p>
<p>Cuchulainn: An Irish mythical demi god for his superhuman strength and amazing deeds on the battlefield. Louth is known as Cúchulainn country because Cúchulainn is reputed to have grown up there.</p>
<p>Aednat:The feminine of the name Aidan meaning “little fire. </p>
<p>References: Lady Gregory Gods and Fighting Men the story of the Tuatha De Danaan and of the fianna of ireland<br/>Neil Gaiman ; Norse Mythology<br/>Vikings Tv Show original characters (series 1-3)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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